A Man on the Outer Fringe. She can talk—the little one can.
Another. Oh, they can all "talk."
A Beery, Dirty Fellow of Fifty. I wouldn't like to be 'er 'usban'. Think o' comin' 'ome to that!
His Pal. I'd soon learn 'er!
Miss E. B. (speaking through the noise). Oh, no! Let the women scrub and cook and wash. That's all right! But if they want to try their hand at the better paid work of the liberal professions—oh, very unfeminine indeed! Then there's another thing. Now I want you to listen to this, because it's very important. Men say if we persist in competing with them for the bigger prizes, they're dreadfully afraid we'd lose the beautiful protecting chivalry that—— Yes, I don't wonder you laugh. We laugh. (Bending forward with lit eyes.) But the women I found at the Ferry Tin Works working for five shillings a week—I didn't see them laughing. The beautiful chivalry of the employers of women doesn't prevent them from paying women tenpence a day for sorting coal and loading and unloading carts—doesn't prevent them from forcing women to earn bread in ways worse still. So we won't talk about chivalry. It's being over-sarcastic. We'll just let this poor ghost of chivalry go—in exchange for a little plain justice.
Voice. If the House of Commons won't give you justice, why don't you go to the House of Lords?
Miss E. B. What?
Voice. Better 'urry up. Case of early closin'.
(Laughter. A man at the back asks the speaker something.)